<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Anemone In My Lungs by LakeWritesThings</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819218">Anemone In My Lungs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWritesThings/pseuds/LakeWritesThings'>LakeWritesThings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Six - Marlow/Moss, Six The Kids - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Gertrude Courtenay, Bisexual Mary I, F/F, F/M, Gertrude has two hands, Hanahaki Disease, Henry forgets that his wife has more than one hand, Mild Blood, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, henry is sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWritesThings/pseuds/LakeWritesThings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry Courtenay had sworn off falling in love, especially in his reincarnation.</p>
<p>So what happens when he's inflicted with the disease of unrequited affections?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Gertrude Courtenay/Mary I of England, Henry Courtenay Marquess of Exeter/Gertrude Courtenay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Anemone In My Lungs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to my bestie (derogatory) @boleynhowards (on tumblr and ao3) for beta reading this for me! Please go check her stuff out as she's an amazing writer!</p>
<p>Anyway, please enjoy this random angst.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Henry Courtenay had sworn never to fall in love.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had never interested him, and, especially upon reincarnating into the modern world and learning the dangers of love, he was spurred further into his beliefs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The disease </span>
  </em>
  <span>was painful and could kill. Just because it could be cured didn’t mean it always was, and it came at a very high cost.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he continued on with life as normal, adjusting to the alien-like world around him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>However, one day things altered. For worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry had been preoccupied with a book. He was seated comfortably, his thin, lanky body curled into an armchair in the kitchen. Every now and then, his eyes flicked over to Gertrude, who was baking (as she often did) and humming a tune he didn’t recognise. They often spent days like this; simple and domestic. They didn’t need to speak to enjoy one another’s company.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At one point, Gertrude turned to him. “Henry, be a dear and pass the flour for me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The nickname was common, something she used with everyone, but Henry’s stomach couldn’t help but do a flip whenever she said it to him. He reached for the flour (nestled near his chair) and scooted toward her slightly to pass it over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their hands brushed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To Gertrude, it was nothing, she just went back to her baking, but to Henry…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry’s throat suddenly felt itchy, like something was clawing at it from within.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He quickly excused himself, barely having time to mark his book page before he hurried to the bathroom. He locked the door. The bathroom was quiet and hopefully far enough away that Gertrude wouldn’t hear him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ran towards the toilet, just in time to splutter deep red petals from his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He cursed himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. No no no. There was no way this was happening. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Henry had set one goal for himself and yet he couldn’t follow it. And now he risked sickness and for what?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wheezed again, a couple more petals coming out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This wasn’t good.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A quick visit to the doctor and some anti-cough medication helped slightly. With the medicine he could hold in any coughs until he was alone, and it didn’t hurt as much. Though as the days dragged on it became harder, and he often found himself coughing into his hand, only to find petals within it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to avoid Gertrude, in the vain hope that if he didn’t see her then what he deemed as a brief infatuation would go away. But she soon asked him about it, and when he told her that he was busy, she simply accepted it. She was never one to probe, and so she occupied herself with things </span>
  <em>
    <span>other than him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mary.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry had known for some time that </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>was happening between the two women. He knew they had been close in their previous life and they were close in reincarnation too. But they weren’t just close. Henry didn’t miss the way Gertrude’s eyes followed Mary as she entered or left a room. He didn’t miss how whenever Gertrude was away Mary would look lost and ask after her. He didn’t miss the soft exchanges they shared when they thought nobody was looking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sickness got worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not only was </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever </span>
  </em>
  <span>Henry had unrequited, but Getrude had feelings for another.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt sick. Not just from his ailment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He cared deeply about Gertrude, and her happiness meant more to him than anything; but he couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy when he saw how she was with Mary. He wanted them both to be happy, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Soon the petals became buds, and he became able to recognise them as red anemone. He’d always had an affinity for flowers and gardening, but this wasn’t what he meant when he said the house needed more flowers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry began locking the door to his room, fearful that if anybody saw him, saw what he’d become, he’d be hated. He didn’t want that, especially not from Gertrude.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The buds had grown into flowers and were accompanied with a stream of blood. The situation was getting harder and harder to hide.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One day, he’d visited Mary, Elizabeth and Edward’s house. He’d excused himself to the bathroom to hack up his misery, however in his hurry to avoid being spotted, he hadn’t locked the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was when Elizabeth walked in. She’d noticed he’d been gone for a while and went to check on him, but quickly opened the door when she heard the sounds of distress coming from within.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sight before her was heartbreaking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry was slumped over the edge of the toilet, weakly coughing as blood and flowers poured from his shaking body. He barely noticed her as he came down from his latest bout.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Henry? Are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He froze. He knew it wasn’t Gertrude’s voice, he knew it too well for that, but someone had still caught him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turned slowly, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth, to see Elizabeth, worry covering her face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” He coughed slightly on the last few words. Seeing Mary and Gertrude together had irritated him more than he thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to get you to hospital. You’re clearly well past the first stage-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No! Nobody else can know about this. It’s already bad enough that you know.” Henry hissed out a reply, voice hoarse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Henry was already too weak to protest when Elizabeth hauled him to her car. Gertrude joined them, saying nothing but clearly upset, only leading to worse coughing from Henry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry Courtenay was on the hospital bed, lovesick. He’d been offered surgery but rejected it, he couldn’t bare to forget how he felt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he could hardly bare to stand it any longer either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A flower surged from his throat in a coat of blood as Gertrude hurried through the door. Her hair was a mess and grey lined the bottom of her eyes. She hurried to his side, taking one of his hands in hers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Henry, dear, can you hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah…” The reply was drawled and sore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeezed his hand tighter, tears forming at the edge of her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who did this to you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He loosened his grip on her hand, looking away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t deserve that burden.” On the last word, a flurry of petals emerged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gertrude brought a soft, gentle hand to his cheek, turning his face. His eyes still looked away, however.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Henry, look at me.” His eyes finally met hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gripped her hand, “You promise you won’t be mad?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The word was so quiet, his voice cracked as he said it. Gertrude didn’t hear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gertrude shook her head slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” She practically whispered, leaning closer to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry took a deep breath. There was nothing else he could do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, Gertrude Blount. You don’t feel the same but that’s okay, I won’t make you. But I don’t want to forget how I feel.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stood there for a moment, frozen. Her eyes glazed over in thought as the tears she’d been repressing began to spill down her cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” He whispered, “I’ll be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He reached a shaky hand towards her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped his hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She held it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And pressed her lips to his palm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve forgotten my name,” she mumbled against his skin. As Henry tried to protest, she looked at him, silencing anything he would have said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My name is Gertrude Courtenay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But we’re not-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you too, Henry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry’s entire world screeched to a halt. He stared blankly at Gertrude. He had no words. This couldn’t be real. She was just trying to make him happy before his illness won.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mary? What…? I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I love both of you, idiot.” There was no malice in the insult, only deep affection. “My love isn’t just limited to one person.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry felt like he couldn’t breathe, moreso than before. Not from the flowers choking his lungs, but from what the beautiful woman before him was saying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She leaned forward, lacing their hands together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can prove it to you.” Her voice was quiet, yet Henry could still hear her care.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped just short of his face, their noses almost brushing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That is...if you want me to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All Henry could choke out was a weak, “Please…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gertrude leaned in and gently touched her lips to his. It was so soft that he barely felt a thing, before she pulled away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you believe me yet?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Henry’s gaze flicked from her lips and back to eyes. He leaned closer, touching their foreheads.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I need some more persuasion.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The second kiss was stronger, and Gertrude’s hands came around his back and head to cradle him softly. He tilted his head slightly to deepen it, and she smiled against his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they broke apart again, Henry realised his throat felt clear, empty. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I...it’s gone.” He said slowly, through his quickly smoothing voice. When Gertrude raised an eyebrow in confusion he added, “The sickness.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She leaned forward again and pressed another chaste kiss on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! If you'd like to follow me elsewhere, my tumblr is @lakes-other-sixes.</p>
<p>Also, red anemone, the flower Henry coughs up, represent death and forsaken love.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>